


Which Redefines Airship

by Untherius



Series: Adrift [6]
Category: Emberverse - S. M. Stirling, Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Gen, Mermaids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2652458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Untherius/pseuds/Untherius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the crews of Loriesha and Amphitrite make final preparations to sail west from the Scilly Isles, things still haven't settled down for Chloe Agnew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Scilly Isles, Cornwall  
April 12, CY 1, 2012 AD

After nearly two weeks, the new water handling and waste treatment systems aboard the modified yacht Amphitrite ran smoothly. Internal hull reinforcements for sail attachment points were in place and the first test run across St. Martin's Flats to Tresco and back was scheduled for the next day. The kitchen vent fan had been replaced with a magical impeller.

Magical illumination units, intended to replace the shipwide bioluminescent fungi that had been smeared into every lighting fixture before leaving Cardiff, progressed more slowly than anticipated. Even the few that had been installed had greatly reduced the number of tripping accidents that had worried the fleet's limited medical staff.

Sand on the nearby beach still steamed from the forging of the two large ship-to-ship communication mirrors firmly secured to the bulkhead of each ship's common-room. A few people worked another section of beach in preparation for another pair of mirrors destined for the ships' bridges.

HVAC had yet to be addressed. While winter would eventually arrive, it was widely acknowledged that both ships could easily be moved southward. Even if they weren't, there seemed to be enough body heat to keep things livable and there was plenty of topsides deck area to deal with the much nearer summer. Still, air in the bowels of Amphitrite had grown uncomfortably stale, something that was regarded as a potential health hazard. Water heating was still a problem and everyone had begun to mutter about ice-cold showers.

Swimming lessons proceeded well. Mari and Megan still had plenty of refinement to do on the educational and training arrangements for both children and adults.

No one had accidentally poisoned anyone else. A few people had left to take their chances ashore, freeing up both space and resources for the new arrivals from Ireland. Relations with the locals remained somewhat strained. Humans and Ingarians were mingling well enough. Attempts to dry out the Nesbitt family possessions and Neil's party's equipment salvaged from the floor of Dun Garbhan Bay had proven mostly successful.

Chloe Agnew didn't care much about any of that at the moment. She paced back and forth on the aft quarterdeck of the schooner Loriesha, only dimly aware of archery and combat training underway. The sounds of it drifted across a hundred yards of water.

“You're making me dizzy,” said Naomi Agnew.

Chloe paused and regarded her sister. “Then get up off your...tail...and join me.”

“Then _I'll_ be dizzy. And I don't have a tail anyway.”

“Sophie disagrees.” Chloe resumed her pacing.

“Sophie...”

“Ya-Naomi, we've been over this every day for the past week,” Chloe snapped. She stopped and exhaled. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to be cross. It's just...I'm worried about Mum.”

“So am I.”

“But you're not helping.”

“And just what am I supposed to do?”

“Pace with me.”

“But that's...exercise.”

“Yes...it is.”

“But you hate exercise!”

“You've seen me perform, haven't you?”

Naomi nodded.

“I love it. And you can't tell me it's not exercise.”

“It's _singing_ you love, not running around on stage.”

“ _Dancing_ around on stage. There's a difference.” Chloe resumed pacing. “Besides, I've changed.”

“So you've said.”

“You could also have helped with Mum. But all you'd do is curl up in a corner and cry.”

“But I don't know what to do about burn victims! I've told you a hundred times!”

“And _we_ told you just as many times what you can do.”

“And _I've_ told the rest of you that I don't _have_ any magic!”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I don't!”

“Is there a problem?” Chloe looked up to see Orla standing with her arms crossed, her bony lenomae protruding conspicuously. How Ingarians managed to keep from gouging divots into everything, puncturing their clothing or each other, or putting out each other's eyes in their sleep was beyond her.

“Chloe thinks I have magic,” said Naomi.

“But you do,” said Chloe.

“I do not!”

“Women,” said Orla, “let's be civil.”

“What happened to 'ladies?'” asked Naomi.

“Neither of you is being particularly ladylike at the moment. I came to tell you that we're about to wake your mum. It would be a very good idea if you were both there for her. The whole ordeal has been...very hard on her. She's already frightened half out of her mind and I'm not exaggerating...much. Marido's been with her, as you know.”

Chloe supposed that was a good thing. Her mother had met Marido once or twice, so she was at least a familiar face.

“But,” continued Orla, “it would have been much better if one or the both of _you_ were by her side, too. More than a couple of times, that is.”

Chloe shot her sister a look that she hoped said, 'you bitch.'

“Now, now, ya-Chloe,” said Orla.

Chloe cursed herself, partly for being noticed, partly for being so disproportionately angry with her sister, and partly for being so afraid to suck it up and be with her own mother. Instead, she looked down at the bundle in her arms. Little Alfu's head protruded from the blanket, her eyes closed, a feline purr emanating from her little body.

The furlit had been growing rapidly and at what felt like at least fifteen pounds, had already nearly tripled her hatching weight. Her feather-like foeliri had been sprouting like so much sable grass and it was clear the little animal was going to be absolutely gorgeous when fully grown.

Naomi glared back at Chloe.

“I don't expect either of you to like it,” said Orla. She stepped forward and relieved Chloe of Alfu. “I'd been rather hoping for a nice candlelight tea with the lot of you in Knocklyon. But that didn't happen. Now, woman up, grow a vagina, and get your tails in there!”

Somehow, at that moment, Orla managed to seem much taller than she actually was. Chloe wasn't sure if the older woman was using magic the way Gandalf had in “Lord of the Rings,” or if it was a psychological response to being dressed down by an elder. She was even less sure it mattered. She knew for certain that she and her sister were, in fact, being quite petty.

“I was...afraid,” said Chloe. She looked at Naomi. “And I'm sorry for being so cross with you. But you didn't...I'm sorry.”

Naomi exhaled heavily. “I suppose I'll have to forgive you. But you keep pushing this magic nonsense on me and frankly, it's getting tiresome.”

“Ya-Naomi,” said Orla, “you're an intelligent woman. You've seen what we've been doing. You've experienced some of it yourself. But you're letting your presuppositions get in the way. Everything around you is, in fact, at face value. It'll all go much better for you once you accept it.”

“Now you're sounding like 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers.'”

Orla chuckled. “I assure you, it's nothing of the sort.”

“So you've said. Well...Neil said.”

“And you still don't believe it?” Chloe asked.

Naomi shook her head.

“Look around you, sister. Follow the evidence.”

“Resistance is futile,” said Orla.

Naomi groaned. “Fine, I'll come. But if Mum looks like a roasted pig, I swear to God I'm going to vomit. Or slap someone. Or both.”

“I doubt it will come to that.” Orla turned and walked toward Loriesha's common-room. Chloe and Naomi followed.

* * *

Chloe looked down at a woman lying on a bed. She knew her mother's face anywhere. The older woman slept peacefully, her chest rising and falling with the slow rhythm of her breathing. A white cotton sheet draped over her chest, her bare arms at her sides. Chloe started to cry.

“Sishobuka?” are you okay, asked Orla from behind her.

“Ai,” choked Chloe. “She looks...well, she looks good.”

“I don't believe it!” gasped Naomi.

“That is why you fail,” said Orla.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“She looks so young,” said Chloe, not bothering to hide the awe she felt.

“Regeneration is like that,” said Orla. “Remember, ya-Chloe, your left ankle is barely the equivalent of a fourteen-year-old's. And ya-Naomi, most of your internal organs are younger, too.”

Naomi glared at Orla. “Did you have to?”

Orla raised an eyebrow.

“I'm sorry,” said Naomi. “It's just...why does it feel like you're playing God?”

“Would it be any different had we'd used so-called conventional medicine? Different tools, ya-Naomi.” She smiled and looked down at Chloe and Naomi's mother. “And I do think the results speak for themselves.”

“But where's her hair?” Naomi asked.

“It'll grow back on its own,” said Orla. “Besides, once it does, I think she'll prefer this to, say, botox, or a face lift.” Naomi started to protest, but Orla continued. “Oh, come now. From everything you and Chloe have said about your mum, she's the type. So I really doubt she'll mind having had her looks rewound a few decades.”

“I know,” said Naomi. “You said as much before. I still don't believe you and Sophie gave my mother the body of a twenty-year-old!”

“There was too much damage. Besides, when Sophie tells tissues to heal, they heal...telomeres and all.”

“She looks so peaceful,” said Chloe, “despite that she has no hair. Are you sure we shouldn't just let her sleep?”

Orla's face turned pensive. “It's true she'll be rather alarmed, given what we had to do to heal her. But she'll have to deal with that eventually. Besides, not only has she been sleeping for a good twelve hours, it would have been a waste of all that time, effort, and risk if we didn't.”

Orla placed a hand on the sleeping woman's forehead. “Ya-Adele, foheralun,” awaken. After a few moments, her eyes fluttered open.

“Mum?” said Chloe. “How do you feel?”

Adele's eyes grew wide. Then she sat bolt upright and screamed.

“Mum!” said Chloe. She grasped her mother's hand and leaned over to look her in the face. “Mum, we're here...me and Naomi. It's okay. You're safe.”

For a few pregnant moments, Adele sat there, breathing heavily and staring absently at the other end of the room. She didn't seem to notice the sheet as it slipped away from her bosom. Chloe didn't bother with it. “Mum?” said Chloe.

At length, Adele looked over at Chloe. She could see fear in her eyes. Adele blinked. “Ch...chloe?” she said. “Oh, Chloe!” She burst into tears and threw her arms around her daughter's neck, burying her face in her tunic.

Chloe hugged her mother. “It's okay, Mum.” She looked across the bed at Naomi, then to Orla, who nodded. What did that mean?

She remembered discussing the entire operation. She knew the whole thing had been unspeakably painful. Essentially, all the pain that would have been drawn out over the many months it would have taken to conduct conventional burn treatment had been compressed into a single week.

She recalled her own healing and how much it had hurt and she'd just had a broken ankle! Naomi had spent three days in what she'd described as sheer agony. At the time, both sisters had questioned whether that was any better than the usual way. While they still had their doubts, they'd finally agreed that, given all the trade-offs, it was indeed preferable.

She and Naomi had sat patiently while Orla and Sophie had explained the procedure. First, they'd had to stabilize Adele. Her entire body was in shock and only Orla's stasis spell had arrested the cascading systems failure that would have killed her twenty minutes later. Then they'd have to re-hydrate her. Given that she'd suffered third degree burns over ninety-five percent of her body, the entire operation had been conducted in the ocean.

The surrounding sea water had to be heated to counteract the risk of hypothermia. They'd also needed thirty pounds of thinly sliced bacon to supply both the protein needed to rebuild the skin, as well as the fat Adele's body needed to meet the heavy energy demands that would be placed upon her metabolism. Five pounds of kelp had yielded the many micronutrients she'd desperately needed.

The procedure had alternated between rebuilding dermis and repairing the damage done by smoke inhalation, oxygen deprivation, and so on. Everyone capable of wielding magic had, whether they'd been inclined or not, taken turns assisting Sophie, Orla, and Megan. Both Chloe and Naomi had been sick to their stomachs at least once.

Chloe watched her sister dash around the table to sidle up next to her. Adele pulled back slightly, tears streaming down her cheeks, her bare bosom heaving. She looked at Naomi and hugged her, too.

“I'm here, too, Mum,” said Naomi.

Both daughters did their best to soothe their mother. Chloe wasn't sure if her and Naomi's efforts were really working, or if Adele was simply calming down on her own. But Chloe knew from recent experience that it took far longer than a few minutes to come down from an adrenaline high, even a small one. Adele's persistently wide eyes testified to that.

“Wha...wha...wha...” Adele stammered.

“What happened?” Chloe offered.

Adele nodded.

“Perhaps,” said Orla, “we should take you topside and give you some fresh air and hot tea.”

Adele looked like she was about to object. “Actually,” said Naomi, “that's a good idea, Mum. I know you don't want to, believe me. But you'll be glad you did.”

“And then we'll answer your questions,” said Chloe. She wasn't sure how well she was equipped for that. She barely understood _what_ had been done to her mother, to say nothing of _how_. She was suddenly afraid she'd made a promise she couldn't possibly keep.

Twenty minutes later, all four women sat in Loriesha's common-room sipping chamomile tea. A sea breeze wafted through a nearby open portal.

“You were right,” said Adele, her lash-less eyes closed, “this does help.” After another sip, she opened her eyes and looked straight at Chloe's. Chloe felt her heart sink into her stomach. Or maybe her stomach climbed up into her heart. She wasn't sure.

“What happened?” Adele asked. Chloe knew that tone well. It was the demanding one her mother used that no one dared resist. She could just about count on two hands the number of times she, Naomi, or their father had ever tried to evade such a question and none of those instances had ended particularly well for anyone.

Chloe took a deep breath, held it, then let it back out. “Okay,” she said slowly, “but please don't ask any questions before I'm done. Because I won't know half the answers anyway.” She went on to describe what had happened in Wales and how she and the other Celtic Woman survivors had found themselves aboard a disabled yacht towed to the Scilly Isles by a schooner.

She explained how over half the people on both ships were aliens, her best friend Marido among them, and what had happened to their world. She omitted the detail about discovering she was a mermaid. That was something she'd cover later when she'd ask her mother about it.

She told how she, Neil, and the others had found Idrone House, and the condition she'd found both Naomi and Adele. She explained, in what she was sure was a very unsatisfactory way, what Orla had done before moving them from the house.

Then Chloe recounted the surgical procedures that had been done on both Naomi and Adele. When she'd finished, Adele sat there blinking for what felt like an hour, but was really only a couple of minutes.

“Let me see,” she said quietly.

“Erm...” Chloe havered.

“I said, let me see!” Adele insisted.

Chloe glanced at Orla, who produced a small hand mirror from behind her back. What didn't that woman have in there? She offered it to Adele, who took it gingerly, the mirror surface facing away.

Adele examined her own hands and arms at great length. She abruptly snapped the mirror up into what Chloe had heard her call the “business position.” Adele gasped. Tears rose up in her eyes, then trickled down her face.

“Don't worry, Mum,” said Chloe, “it'll grow back.”

“I...I don't look like a fried fish!” Adele blurted.

Chloe and Naomi exchanged looks. Her sister's expression said what she herself was thinking: yes, and I have absolutely no idea why, but I'm not complaining.

After another couple of moments, Adele exhaled. “If it doesn't...grow back...I think I can live with that. Much better than...being covered with scars.” She looked sharply at Chloe. “How?”

Chloe was afraid her mother would ask that question. Naomi had asked it, too, and Chloe gave the same answer she'd given her sister. “Magic.”

Adele raised what would have been an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“It was magic, ya-Mum. I know it sounds silly, believe me. But magic's real. If you stay with us, you'll see.”

“Sounds like there's not much to go back to.”

“I wanted to look for Dad, but...”

“Chloe! We don't talk about...”

“Ai, ai, ai,” said Chloe impatiently. Then, “Sorry. Look, Mum, Naomi and I are angry with him, too. Not as much as you, sure. And if we ever run across him, I just might hold him down while you...do whatever. But he's still my father and I still love him.”

“I suppose we're staying,” said Naomi. “I think it'd be a chore getting back anyhow.”

The four women sat there looking at each other for a few minutes. Finally, Chloe couldn't stand it. “Mum, why didn't you tell me?” She was going to wait longer, but the suspense had been killing her ever since she'd fallen into the sea and sprouted her tail for the first time.

“Ya-Chloe...?” said Orla.

“Tell you what?” Adele asked.

Chloe ignored Orla. “You know.”

“Know what?”

Chloe knew her mother could play dumb when it suited her, but she somehow had a feeling she had no idea what Chloe was trying to ask. “About what I am?” she probed.

Adele gasped. “Chloe! You're...are you pregnant?”

Chloe looked sharply back at her mother. “Uh...no, Mum.”

“HIV positive?”

Chloe furrowed her brow and shook her head. “If I were either of those things, wouldn't I know about it before you?”

“Then...” Adele's eyebrows shot up. “Chloe!” She sounded socked. “You're not a...lesbian...are you?”

“Am I _WHAT?!_ ” Chloe couldn't believe her mother would think that. On the other hand, maybe she could.

She and Marido had hit it off quite well when they'd first met back when the Celtic Woman project had started and the two of them had since been unusually demonstrative toward each other. But both she and Marido also knew that the other didn't swing that way, so it hadn't been a big deal.

“Because if you are...look, I'm your mother and I'll always love you...I want you know that, alright?”

“Mother! No, I'm not gay! Do you think I'd be tripping on my tongue like this over something normal?”

Adele exhaled. “Look, things have been...strange.”

“You have no idea.”

“If you're not pregnant, disease-ridden, or gay, then what is it? Barring death, what could possibly be more...life-altering than any of that?”

Chloe stared into her mother's eyes. Seconds stretched into minutes.

“Chloe?” said Naomi. “You're starting to worry us.”

“I...” said Chloe. “I...I feel silly saying it.”

“Saying what?” said Adele.

“I'm...I'm...”

“Oh, just...out with it!” said Naomi.

“I'm a mermaid!” blurted Chloe.

Orla groaned slightly.

Adele stared at Chloe. “S...sorry?”

Chloe exhaled. “I'm a mermaid. There...I said it.”

“No way,” said Naomi.

Adele cocked her head. “Are you being cheeky with me, young lady?”

“No, ya-Mum,” said Chloe evenly. “It's the truth.”

“Are you sure you don't have a bump on the head?”

“Mum has a point,” said Naomi. “Concussion could give you delusion.”

“A bump on the head? Concussion? Delusions? Mum, Naomi, those people brought you two back from the brink of death and put your broken bodies back together. Do you seriously think a concussion is going to be a problem for them?”

Adele cocked her head. “I suppose not. But...a mermaid? Why would you tell us such a thing?”

Chloe rolled her eyes.

“Don't roll your eyes at me, young lady!”

Chloe stood up, drained her tea, then strode over to place the cup and saucer in the anti-shatter box. She turned and strolled toward the cabin door.

“Where are you going?”

Chloe stopped and turned over her shoulder. “Well, come on, then...before I lose my nerve!”

“Lose your nerve? What...?”

“Mum!” said Chloe insistently. “Please follow me?”

“Fine. But it had better be good.”

That was a matter of opinion. While Chloe had saved several people's lives after Orla had dumped the Nesbitts into the sea two weeks earlier, and while that had been unquestionably a good thing, she still hadn't made up her mind about whether she really wanted to have anything to do with being a mermaid. Not in the long term, anyway.

Adele and Naomi followed Chloe toward the stern, across the gangway to Amphitrite's aft quarterdeck, then down onto her fantail. Chloe turned around, peeled off her tunic and tossed it next to the stair leading down from the deck. The chill air pricked at her skin.

Her mother and sister alighted, then froze when they saw her. Adele gaped at Chloe. “Chloe Alexandra Adele Emily!” That was definitely her mum's scolding tone, the one which, when she'd been a girl, had immediately preceded a spanking. “No underthings!?”

Chloe sighed. “I'm on permanent life-guard duty. Trust me, what I'm about to show you would tear up all my underwear in no time anyway. And I didn't bring anything else.”

“What are you...?” Before Adele could finish her question, Chloe toppled backward like a falling tree. “Chloe!”

Chloe felt the slight sting as her body slapped the water, then its bracing chill as it folded itself around her. She rolled, angled downward, and pulled with her arms. She opened her mouth, expelled some of the air from her lungs, then drew in a deep breath of water. A short, but intense panic washed through her mind, then quickly passed like the sea foam above her. The salty tang tingled her throat and lungs in a not unpleasant way.

She felt her legs pull irresistibly together, then the strange sensations as they fused. Flesh, skin, and bone rearranged and merged as her legs quickly metamorphosed into a tail. The transformation took mere seconds, culminating in an expansion wave that rippled rapidly out from her tail.

Chloe floated there for a few moments, reveling in the sensations. That was such a rush! She waited for her breathing to return to what constituted normal for underwater. She remained still, listening to the sounds. It was remarkable how much she could hear underwater.

Drumming telegraphed nicely through Amphitrite's hull, as did the sounds of a couple trying to be quiet about something everyone on the ship knew they were doing anyway. Above all, she could hear her mother panicking twelve feet above. Chloe breathed a watery sigh, flicked her tail gently, and rose to the surface.

She took another watery breath just before her head passed into air. She bobbed there about six feet from the yacht's stern. Her mother's eyes widened.

“Chloe!” Adele reached out. “Chloe, dear, grab my hand!” When Chloe continued to bob there, sculling her tail lightly, her mother asked, “What are you standing on?”

Chloe rolled her eyes, shook her head, then ducked back underwater. She wasn't sure how much longer she could have held her breath. The thought that she had to hold her breath while in the open air was strange. She'd figured out that breathing air triggered the transition back to legs and she wasn't quite ready for that yet—not until she'd tested her other theory.

Chloe leveled off at eight feet and gazed upward. The fantail was directly overhead. She saw both her mother and sister silhouetted against the sky. It was impossible to tell which was which, but she doubted they'd changed places.

She maintained position, twitching her tail just enough to maintain stability. She was glad Sophie, Orla, Gwenliani, and pretty much everyone else had insisted that she spend inordinate amounts of time underwater learning how to swim like a mermaid, in addition to her conventional swimming lessons, perpetual life-guard duty, and taking shifts during her mother's healing.

What she was about to do would be highly risky. Frankly, it scared her, but not for herself. She still didn't think her sister could swim, but that would make no difference. She just hoped Sophie was right.

With a powerful flick of her fin, Chloe shot upward. She took a breath, then broke out of the water, feeling it scatter energetically in all directions. She groped for Naomi, but missed.

She reached zenith just a few feet above her sister. Chloe looked down and saw Naomi gaping at her. She took her sister's shock as an opportunity. She knew she'd be coming down directly on her fin. She'd done that once just a few days before and had sprained it in the process. But somehow, the transformation back to legs had reset her tail and injuries didn't seem to persist.

Chloe felt herself begin to drop. She angled her fin forward slightly, then reached out toward Naomi. He grabbed her sister's shoulders with both hands, gripped hard, and leaned back. She'd never seen her sister's eyes grow that wide before...ever. It made her grin.

Naomi had apparently not been expecting anything. Chloe felt and saw her sister topple off the fantail as her own fin worked to angle her into the water, pulling Naomi after her. There was a great splash and Chloe's hands slipped off of Naomi's skin.

Chloe quickly took another watery breath, twisted around to locate her sister, then wrapped both arms around her waist, arched her back, and dove straight down. She pumped her tail up and down until the substrate rose up into her vision, some thirty feet beneath the surface. Then Chloe rolled, putting herself on top of Naomi, and driving her the rest of the way to the bottom.

At that moment, Chloe was aware that she was living up to some of the less-nice mermaid legends, specifically the ones in which mermaids aggressively drowned their victims. But she also knew there was no way she or anyone else would convince Naomi to simply stick her head into the water and inhale. So she had to force the issue.

She released Naomi, who started to struggle frantically toward the surface. Chloe grabbed her sister's shoulders again and shoved her hard against the sand, using her muscular weight and the occasional flick of her tail to pin Naomi to the bottom. She could see the look of utter horror mixed with sheer terror on Naomi's face. Truth be told, Chloe was almost enjoying what she was doing to her sister.

After a couple of minutes, Chloe saw the involuntarily spasm she knew would be coming, the one the brain was hard-wired to make in response to imminent asphyxiation. Terror spread across Naomi's face as she inhaled sea water. Chloe grinned as she watched her sister's legs pull together and quickly fuse into a mermaid tail. The accompanying ripple knocked Chloe away.

But Chloe had expected that and let it happen. She hovered in the water and watched Naomi panic, wiggling her tail in an effort to get it off, just as Chloe herself had done when she'd first transformed. Then, also as Chloe had expected, Naomi glared at her with a look that could have instantly vaporized all the water surrounding the Scilly Isles.

Naomi swam awkwardly up from the bottom and began to pound Chloe in her bare chest. Chloe scooted backward, letting Naomi's largely ineffective hits translate into motion. Then she heard something she hadn't expected.

 _What the bloody hell was that?!_ It was her sister's voice, but it came out as a series of ringing sounds, not unlike modem noises.

 _What did you say?_ Chloe responded. She blinked, realizing that her own voice also bore the same odd ringing tones.

Both young women hung in the water, staring at each other for several pregnant seconds. Then Chloe grinned.

 _See?_ Chloe rang. _We were right! You ARE a mermaid!_

 _You could have drowned me!_ Naomi screeched.

_Don't be so dramatic. I would have risen you to the surface and we'd have magically fixed you...again._

_Well, you could have warned me! But, oh, no! You had to DRAG ME TO THE BOTTOM OF THE F**KING OCEAN!_

_You didn't believe me, remember?_

_Of course I didn't believe you! It was ludicrous!_

Chloe cocked her head in a rakish manner, then gestured at Naomi's tail. _Not so ludicrous now, is it?_

Naomi crossed her arms defiantly. _You're going to pay for this._

Chloe was sure her sister was right. Instead she rang, _Mum's probably having a panic attack up there, you know._

_And you think it's going to improve once we both show up with tails, do you?_

_You'll see._ Chloe reached out to take her sister's hand.

Naomi twisted away. _Don't touch me!_

 _Fine, stay angry at me. At least follow me back to the surface. Then you may ignore me to your heart's content._ Chloe floated upward, sculling her tail gently, waiting for her sister to catch up. _And just how,_ Chloe rang over her shoulder, _would I have proven this to you anyway?_

_I don't know. You could have asked me._

_But you would have said no._

_Of course I'd have said no!_

Chloe groaned, which came out sounding rather like a humpback whale. _Haul yourself up onto the fantail before taking a breath of air._

_Why?_

_Trust me. I've been through this before._

_You pull me underwater, then hold me there while I nearly drown and..._

_Oh, you did NOT nearly drown. You're a mermaid!_

_You pin me to the bottom while I'm thinking I'm drowning and you want me to trust you?_

_Well, then, just stay down here._ At that, Chloe turned, porpoised out of the water, planted both palms against the edge of the fantail, and half heaved, half rolled herself onto the ship. She saw Naomi try, then falter.

Chloe ejected the water from her lungs, and looked at her mother, who still knelt there, but with tears streaming down her face. Adele's jaw dropped. “How...who put that on you?”

Chloe drew a full breath of air. “Like I said, ya-Mum,” said Chloe impatiently, “I'm a mermaid. This is my mermaid tail.”

Adele poked at it. “It's...slimy. It feels so...real!”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “That's because it _is_ real.” She reached over to help Naomi, who just glared.

After a little more struggling, Naomi spit the water out of her own lungs, then clawed the rest of the way out of the sea. She glowered at Chloe. “Bitch,” she muttered.

“Look, ya-Naomi, I'm really sorry I didn't warn you, but...oh, bollocks.” She felt the heat beginning to rise in her tail. She mentally braced herself for the coming pain. She watched as the familiar crease developed near her fin, then deepened as it quickly worked its way up to below her hips. Her entire lower body prickled like a thousand thorns as her scales receded back into her skin, contracting back into hairs. After a couple of long minutes, the searing pain had passed. Her stomach twitched slightly, and then it was over. “Oh, I hate that part,” she muttered.

If Adele's jaw had been hanging open before, it had practically fallen onto the deck. “See?” said Chloe. “I told you so.”

Chloe staggered to her feet and pulled her tunic back on before kneeling down next to Naomi.

“What did you do?” Naomi demanded.

“To start the reverse transformation? Just wait. It took a bit the first time. But it should start right about...now.”

As if on cue, Naomi's tail began to glow, first dull red, then slowly brightening to a bronzey orange.

“Ow,” said Naomi.

“I know.”

“Agh...” Naomi's breathing quickened and tears welled up in her eyes.

Chloe watched her sister and mother both stare at Naomi's tail as, over several minutes, it separated back into legs, the fin returning to feet, and the scales receding to hairs. When the glow had faded over Naomi's pasty-white legs, she flopped back on her back, breathing heavily, her face heavily tear-streaked. “Oh, my...” Naomi didn't finish her sentence. She rolled over and vomited into the sea, then flopped back onto her back.

Chloe glanced over to see Marido kneeling down and holding out a mug of something. Naomi sat up, took it gingerly, and drank its contents. She looked at the empty mug, then at Chloe, then back at the mug. Then she tossed it into the water and grinned.

Chloe groaned, then quickly shed her tunic, took a deep breath, then dove into the water. Several powerful strokes put the slowly sinking mug into her grasp. She turned and pulled back to the surface and hauled herself out of the water. “Oh, no, Naomi,” she said between breaths. “You were _not_ going to make me go through that again so soon. Stop being so vindictive! It's not my fault it hurts so much!” She paused. “Besides, I wanted to know if it was just me.”

“Just you?” Naomi growled.

Chloe exhaled, then stood up, set the empty mug on the deck, then pulled her tunic back on, the fabric clinging recalcitrantly to her wet skin. “Loramin,” thank-you, she said. Marido smiled. Chloe really had been making an effort to learn Ingarian. Besides, it was an alien language! How many people had an opportunity to learn a _real_ alien language? And from _real_ aliens, no less?

Chloe ignored Naomi's question. She knew how her sister was feeling: confused; overwhelmed; betrayed. While no one had forcibly held Chloe down, she remembered feeling that someone, presumably her mother, had left out one critically important piece of information: Chloe was a mermaid! Instead, she looked at her mother, who still gaped at Chloe.

Adele chose that moment to scream. Chloe had never heard her mother shriek like that before and she wondered how much of its girlishness was from her rewound body and how much was from the shock of it all.

Chloe wiggled a finger in her ear. “That was,” she said as soon as her mother had stopped screaming, “loud, ya-Mum.”

“Mary, Mother of God!” declared Adele.

“So _now_ do you two believe me?” said Chloe.

Naomi exhaled heavily and nodded. Adele shook her head slowly. “Any minute now, I'm going to open my eyes and find this all to have been a hallucination.”

Naomi hrmphed. “Mum, this isn't something you hallucinate.”

“Well,” said Chloe, “not unless Cthulhu's behind it.”

Naomi and Adele looked sharply at Chloe. “Oh, no,” said Naomi, “you are _not_ telling us that's real, too.”

“Don't be absurd,” said Marido, who still stood on the ladder. “Cthulhu died in the supernova.”

Chloe snorted a laugh.

“You think I'm joking, don't you?”

“Cthulhu?”

“Ask Orla. She'll tell you.”

“And you believe everything Orla tells you?”

“Well,” said Marido pensively, “she does have an ornery streak.”

“You don't say.” Chloe really did like Orla. But Marido was rather understating things. Despite the shy veneer Orla had worn during her career in Celtic Woman, she'd occasionally shown herself to be more mischievous than the rest of them put together.

“So I cross-referenced with Sophie,” Marido continued. “She said the same thing. So did Wilfird. And Charmaini. Though they did say Cthulhu was somewhere between verified history and ancient legend. It was part of some things that happened in the Second Age. For some reason, written records for that period are a bit sketchy in some regards.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Sketchy how?”

Marido shrugged. “Not sure.” She reached out her hand. A few moments later, the empty mug sitting on the deck jumped up and into Marido's hand. “It worked!” she squealed. “That is the best spell _ever_!”

“Spell?” said Adele. “Spell?!”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Yes, ya-Mum. It's magic...like what they did to you. And no, it has absolutely nothing to do with the devil. And yes, ya-Naomi, you and I are magical beings. And now I'm going to have my very late and no doubt even colder than normal breakfast while you two get the hell over it!” She stormed up the ladder, Marido barely staying ahead of her.


	2. Chapter 2

Celtic Sea, east end of Broad Sound, Scilly Isles  
April 27, CY 1, 2012 AD

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.”

Kathleen Nesbitt glanced up from her tea, her eyes flicking to the open end of one of the metal tubes that snaked from the bridge down through the rest of the yacht. Gareth Perry's slow, carefully-enunciated voice echoed out of it.

“If you gaze off the port side of the sea-craft, you will see Bishop Light drifting toward our stern. This means we have officially left Scilly. We are approaching our cruising speed of twelve knots. But please remain inside until I have turned off the fasten seat-belt sign.”

Several people groaned. Kathleen's husband John and son Noel chuckled.

“Please keep all electronic devices turned off, as they can interfere with our navigation.”

A few others sporfled laughter.

“And if,” Gareth continued, “you must use magical equipment, please place it in sea-craft mode for the duration of our cruise.”

Full-blown laughter erupted.

“Because, of course, sure as hell nothing electronic actually works anyway.”

Kathleen started to laugh, too.

“Please remember that the fantail is strictly off-limits for safety reasons. In the event of a water landing, you know where the exits are and remember, Chloe, Naomi, and Gwenliani can be used as flotation devices.”

More howls of laughter.

“Long-range magical scans indicate calm seas for at least a few days. So just sit back, relax, and enjoy the cruise.”

She could hear further laughter echoing up from below. She looked across the table at Adele Agnew and her daughter Naomi. Both of them at least smiled. Naomi even tittered a little, which Kathleen took as a good sign. The two of them had been uncharacteristically resistant to the idea of magic, even after Chloe had rather abruptly shoved her sister underwater, forcing the mermaid issue. They'd both come around to a point, but still hadn't fully adjusted to it.

A slender arm reached into Kathleen's peripheral vision to set a mug onto the table. Then she felt those arms wrap around her neck, followed by a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, ya-Mum!” said Marido's voice in her ear.

Kathleen smiled. She reached up and patted her daughter's arm, still conscious of the bone protruding from that elbow. “Hello, ya-Marido,” she said. She turned and kissed her adopted daughter on the cheek. “So, how's my favorite alien doing?”

“Oh, I'm fine.”

“How's the morning sickness treating you?”

Marido shrugged. “Not bad. It's a little annoying. The Commodore does have a sense of humor, doesn't he?” Marido hugged Kathleen briefly, then gave John a firm hug and a daughterly kiss before sitting down next to Kathleen.

Kathleen smiled more broadly as Marido rested a shoulder against her own. She reached an arm behind Marido and rubbed her back, eliciting a purr from her adopted daughter. She felt just as warm and seemingly-human as she always had. Grown or no, alien or no, Marido would always be her little girl.

“Isn't that...weird?” said Adele.

“Mm?” Kathleen noised.

“That your daughter...is an alien?”

Kathleen shrugged. “A little.” She turned her head and caught Marido's eye. “We're...adapting. Do I wish my birth-daughter hadn't died? Of course. Would I trade the years raising Marido for the ones we didn't have with Mairead?” She paused.

“No,” she continued, her mouth curling into a smile. “I don't think I would. We came to know her as a person. The fact that she happens to actually be an alien is...largely incidental. We love her and we always will.” Just saying that gave Kathleen a warm feeling inside.

Adele exhaled heavily and looked at Naomi. “Wish I could get over you being a mermaid.”

“Why can't you?” Kathleen asked.

Adele shot her a look.

Chloe bounded up from below, mussed Marido's hair, then gave her mother a firm hug and kissed her on the cheek. Adele shot her a look. “What?” said Chloe.

“Your mum's still having trouble with me being an alien and you and Naomi being mermaids.”

Chloe looked at her mother. “If it makes you feel any better, so am I.” She shrugged. “And it's not like I feel any different than I ever have.”

“That's easy for you to say.”

Chloe's head fell to the table and she groaned. After a moment, she raised it again. “You're not the one who has to deal with splitting tail pain every time.”

“But I have to watch! Do you have any idea what it's like seeing your own child in that much pain?!”

Chloe shook her head. “Not so much, no.”

“Well, it's the worst thing in the world.”

“Would you have trouble seeing me give birth?”

Adele's brow furrowed. “Well...no. Alright, maybe a little. But that's natural.”

“So's this.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes! At least...I think it is.” Chloe chuckled nervously. “Look, ya-Mum. This is all really weird. But none of it shows any sign of going away any time soon. Best to make the most of it, wouldn't you say?”

“Listen, Adele,” said John. “We're all still adjusting. But I think your daughter's right. This...” He gestured to the room. “...is our new normal. And it's growing on me. Quite frankly, I'm not certain I really want to go back to the old normal. It's so exciting! So grab it by the ears and yank!”

Everyone at the table laughed. “Oh, ya-Dad,” said Marido, “you're so funny!”


	3. Chapter 3

North Atlantic Ocean  
May 18, CY 1, 2012 AD

Gareth Perry stood at _Amphitrite's_ helm. At least, that was what everyone called it. In reality, it looked like nothing so much as a variation on an auto's steering wheel. But that came with the territory on modern yachts.

There was a certain amount of confusion over the term “helm.” On the one hand, that was what the steering apparatus on the old sailing vessels was called. They even called it that aboard the starship _Enterprise_. He'd also heard it sometimes called simply “the wheel.” On the other hand, head armor was also apparently called a helm. Who would have known any of that would ever be relevant in the real world? Fortunately, more and more people had taken to using either the Welsh words 'llyw' and 'helmau' or the Ingarian words 'timat' and 'korsh' respectively.

In any event, it all made Gareth feel like a pioneer, one of the early sea explorers like Cook, Eiriksson, or Magellan. He also wondered how those men had ever dealt with the day-after-day monotony of it all. It had all felt so exciting watching the last of the Scilly Isles slide past their beam a month before. But since then, there'd just been day after day after day of nothing but slightly choppy ocean.

He found himself wishing like never before that his MP3 player still worked. Instead, he kept himself occupied with a book. It wasn't like there was anything to hit out there in the open sea and he really only needed to look up on occasion.

A half-kilometer ahead, the white sails of the schooner _Loriesha_ stood above the slate-blue sea. A bank of clouds sat barely visible on the horizon.

Gareth placed a bookmark between pages and closed the book. He turned and tapped on the large mirror secured to a nearby bulkhead. A few moments later, his brother-in-law's face appeared in the glass.

“Yes?” said Howell.

“You're getting a bit too far ahead,” said Gareth.

Howell just blinked.

“Howell, we discussed this. Half a kilometer is too far. Strike some canvas and let us catch up. You know good and well you're faster and you know just as good and just as well we're not the bloody British Navy.”

Howell sighed heavily. That man really could exaggerate a perceived insult. He turned and barked the orders in Ingarian.

An hour later, Gareth adjusted course as he came up on _Loriesha's_ port beam. That his brother-in-law's ship also had more flexibility when it came to speed also annoyed him a little. On the other hand, he was genuinely thrilled to be underway at all.

 _Amphitrite_ , like nearly every other vessel of its size and class built during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, had been designed with an internal-combustion engine and nothing else. When the Shift had rendered that engine useless, he'd been forced to find an alternative means of propulsion. The solution had involved reinforcing the hull at several points so that a magical sail could be deployed.

Gareth glanced slightly upward at the shimmering expanse of that sail, its opalescence playing subtly across the upper deck and the people there. He somehow wished he could have said it was unlike anything he'd ever seen. But the truth of the matter was that it really reminded him quite strongly of an impossibly large soap bubble, but flayed open and stretched out like a world map.

Most sails moved in response to the wind and the physical forces of ropes and so on. The magical sail fixed to _Amphitrite_ changed appearance in response to energy, both what was put into it by the mage who'd erected it—or, maga, as it had been Charmaini's work—and sunlight and moonlight, the latter of which gave the sail a peculiar appearance like that of translucent mylar. Also unlike most sails, it was frustratingly difficult to alter speed. It tended to be either there or not, although Charmaini had been learning to change its surface area and relative density to allow it to catch either more or less wind.

“Commodore!”

Gareth turned to see the lookout on duty charge up the stair and onto the bridge, a pair of binoculars in his hand, their strap looped around his neck. “Ai?” said Gareth.

The man pointed off toward the port bow. “Ship ahoy, Sir!”

Gareth picked up his own spotting scope and searched the horizon in the indicated direction. Sure enough, a large ship, a freighter from the look of it, poked above the gentle curve of Earth. He wondered how many such vessels they'd passed during the night and all the ones before, invisible in the darkness.

How many of their crews had, in their panic, already fired off all their signal flares? How many had exhausted all means of being noticed short of anything electrical that no longer worked? How many of them would continue to float on the current until they became ghost ships when their crews either abandoned ship in small rowable boats, or died altogether from hunger and thirst? Gareth tried not to think about that.

He adjusted course to intercept, then reactivated the mirror. “Howell,” he said, “we've spotted a ship bearing twenty degrees off the port bow. We're changing course to investigate. I want you to maintain position one hundred meters off our starboard beam.”

Howell nodded and the mirror returned to Gareth's own reflection. He shook his head slowly. Having family in the chain of command was a bit awkward. A lot of people had latched onto the idea of his little flotilla being a miniature navy, with proper protocol, rank, and so on. He'd smiled and nodded and rolled his eyes at most of it. But in the end, he'd just gone with it, since it seemed to have been effective in turning the people under his care into a well-oiled machine. It also seemed to have helped everyone focus, the resulting stability sorely needed in the aftermath of the Shift.

But Howell, true to his idiom, acknowledged Gareth's command more out of necessity than anything, running his own ship under the slightly different Ingarian maritime tradition. That made the occasional crew reassignments a bit awkward. But everyone seemed to be adapting well enough.

Gareth watched his target swing slightly to starboard as he steered his ship straight for it. Then he watched _Loriesha_ adjust course to take up position a little over a hundred meters off _Amphitrite's_ starboard beam. Gareth wasn't going to quibble over the little bit of extra distance. It meant the two ships were a little less likely to collide, which was the whole point.

After a while, Howell's face again appeared in the mirror. “Gareth? Just what is it you plan to do?”

“Not sure yet,” Gareth admitted. “Depends on whom we meet and how many of them there are.”

“Sounds like this is a rescue operation.”

“Or good as. I'm not about to let whomever's on that boat just drift around out here. We might not have the resources to help everyone, but we sure can help some of them. And that's what I intend to do. I hope you don't have a problem with that.”

“Not so much. But shouldn't we have discussed it?”

“We did discuss it. Right before we left Scilly, in fact. Or don't you remember?”

“I remember a blanket resolution to...oh, bloody hell. Fine. We'll do it your way. But if this bites us in our backsides, I'll say I told you so.”

“I'll be sure to note that in my log,” said Gareth flatly. The image in the mirror changed again. He sighed. What was it about that man that made him so difficult? Gareth supposed Howell's independent bent, to put it nicely, had ultimately resulted in their collective salvation, as it were.

But he still had a nagging feeling that the same independence may have somehow been responsible for the whole thing in the first place. Howell had been strangely moot on the subject. But his brother-in-law had always been frustratingly evasive about pretty much everything and seemed to make a rule about facing his responsibilities only if he chose to do so or when he literally had no other option.

The sun was about a half-dozen diameters above the horizon by the time Gareth's target was a kilometer off. He thought he was seeing things. “Oh, bloody hell. Lieutenant?” he asked. “Is that what I think it is?”

“It appears to be a cruise ship, Sir.”

Gareth groaned. “Of course it is,” he said facetiously.

How many people did those things carry? Hundreds? Thousands? He'd been prepared to take on maybe a couple dozen passengers, even if it meant detouring north to Iceland to drop them off. But there was no way Amphitrite and Loriesha together could physically hold even a hundred additional passengers without going straight to the bottom with the first heavy swells, both ships already laden as they were.

“All stop!” he ordered. He tapped at the mirror and waited for Howell's face to appear.

“I told you so,” the other man said without hesitation.

“This hasn't gone pear-shaped yet,” Gareth retorted. “We need to hold an all-staff meeting. Order all stop, then convene in your common room. Five minutes.” He tapped on the mirror again. “Lieutenant, take the helm and hold her steady. Keep her at least a half kilometer from that ship.”

“Ai, Sir,” the man said as he stepped up to take Gareth's place.

Gareth descended from the Bridge and collected his staff in front of the common room mirror.

“As I'm sure you're all aware,” he said as soon as the large communications mirror had been activated, “we have a bit of a problem. At thirteen twenty-two local time, we spotted a ship on the horizon and changed course intending to assist. And wouldn't you know it, that vessel turns out to be a cruise ship.

“I'd initially been prepared to take her survivors aboard, but now that's out of the question for reasons I hope are obvious. But I cannot, in good conscience, just let them continue to float around out here.”

“If they drift with the current,” said Megan, “won't they just wind up off the coast of England or France?”

“Eventually, I expect so. But how long will that take? Weeks?”

“Months, more likely,” said Howell.

“You remember how much trouble we had with just what many would consider to be minor things and there aren't that many of us on ships that really aren't very big. That thing...” He pointed in the direction of the cruise ship. “...is enormous. It has to be at least seventy thousand tonnes displacement. Ventilation alone is going to be an issue, not to mention water and, at some point, food. I strongly suspect it's already an issue.”

“Ai” said Neil. “Do the math. That ship's been floating out here for two months already. What resources does it carry and are they enough for everyone aboard? That thing's a floating city without any farming capacity. We've constantly been over the numbers for ourselves, even before we left Mountain Ash. We know how this sort of thing can play out. It's pretty bad over there and I think we all know it before even looking.”

“Quite right. Moreover, without ballast pumps to keep her trim, I'm actually surprised she's still upright.”

“I don't know,” said Howell. “At this point, I think anything's risky.”

“Of course it is,” said Gareth. “But we have to do something. I'm open to suggestions. From anyone.”

At first, there was silence.

“We actually don't know a lot,” said Megan at length. “Mostly, we're making a lot of assumptions based on our own experiences.”

“How can we possibly help?” said Howell.

Megan shrugged. “I guess we can ask.”

“I'll get right on that.”

“Erm,” said Gareth, “you might not be the right person for that.”

“Gareth, I'm hurt.”

Megan snorted. “Howell, you know I love you and you know my opinion of you has grown in leaps and bounds these last few years. But you still have the diplomatic skills of a brick.”

Howell opened his mouth to say something.

“Oh, stop that. You do, too, and you know it.”

“Megan has a point,” said Gareth. “Your bedside manner is appalling. You're very good at the things that you do, but public relations is most definitely not one of those.”

“Isn't that why we have compartmentalization?” Neil asked. “Because each of us has things we do well that others don't do so well? I'd have thought you, with your general aversion to work, would be glad enough to let someone else do something like this.”

Howl scowled, but held his tongue.

“I think Mum should do it,” said Neil. “Her bedside manner is brilliant and she easily knows enough magic to amplify her voice across the space.”

“Sure,” said Megan.

“It looks like we have a plan,” said Gareth. “We'll move Amphitrite to about a hundred yards from the ship, assess their situation, and go from there. Any objections?” There were none. “Make it so.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Megan stood on the upper deck, facing the cruise ship. It was enormous.

“Good God,” said Neil. “That's the Queen Mary Two! It was hard to tell when we first spotted her and I didn't know for sure even during our meeting.” He cringed.

Megan and Gareth looked at him. Leave it to Neil to know something like that. “Is it that bad?” she asked.

Neil nodded. “Something like a hundred and forty thousand tonnes, with upwards of seventy tonnes displacement. She'll be carrying somewhere around twenty-five hundred passengers and twelve hundred crew. More or less.”

Gareth let out a low whistle.

Megan took a deep breath, focused her will, then shoved her voice across the space between the vessels. “Ahoy there! We would like to speak with your Captain!” The words echoed off the cruise ship's hull.

Several long minutes passed. Megan watched the activity the best she could. It was difficult to tell what was happening, apart from a general gathering of people at the rails, watching the new arrivals. Several thin smoke plumes drifted from the upper decks. Someone was obviously cooking something up there. That much was a good sign. At length, someone standing on the very upper deck yelled something. The words were all but swallowed up in the wind.

Megan shook her head slowly. “I don't think this is going to work.”

“Ai,” said Gareth pensively, “I think you're right.”

“Now what?” said Neil.

“Why don't we go over there?”

Megan turned to find Orla leaning casually on her staff. “Ai, ai, I know I'm not part of your command staff. But it's such a small vessel, one can't help overhearing things. And there's that transparency policy of yours. May I make a couple of suggestions?”

“By all means,” said Gareth.

“First,” said Orla, “we have Howl position Loriesha off Queen Mary's stern in case she starts to capsize. It'll make him feel useful and give him a chance to show off. You know how he is about that.”

Megan snorted.

“That ship's already listing as it is,” Orla added. “Second, a few of us go over there and find out what they need and how we can help.”

Gareth considered that for a moment. “I don't see why not. Who do you plan to take?”

“Myself, Megan, and...Neil.”

“I assume,” said Megan, “that you plan to use magic?”

Orla nodded.

“Wait,” said Neil, “who's watching Alfu?”

“You lovely wife, I believe. Do you need time to gear up?”

Megan blinked. “Gear up? For what?”

“There's a...disturbance in the Force.”

Neil sporfled laughter.

“Erm,” said Gareth, “it's a cruise ship. With people stranded on it. We're going over there to talk, not invade the place.”

Neil recovered with obvious effort. “This is an away mission,” he said. “Don't we have a protocol for that?”

Gareth groaned. Megan was unsure how much of that had to do with the obvious Star-Trek-ism. He sighed heavily, then nodded. “Just be careful,” he said.

* * *

Megan's feet touched down on the upper deck of the _Queen Mary_. Even keeping her knees flexed as Orla had suggested, the landing was a little hard and she nearly stumbled. Clearly, flying had a learning curve. The modest weaponry hanging from her belt and the leather satchel slung across her body didn't help. She noticed some things at once that hadn't been visible from _Amphitrite_.

The deck was crowded. People lined the railing, their attention on Megan, Orla, and Neil. Others huddled about the deck in knots, staring blankly off at nothing in particular. There was something in their eyes, a haunted look that Megan had only seen in people going through hell.

She'd seen it in the faces of people at the hospital where she'd worked for so many years. She'd seen it in the Ingarians after their exodus. She'd seen it in her fellow Welshmen after the escape from Cardiff. But there was something else and she just couldn't put her finger on it.

Several large steel kettles hung over raised plates of lazily-burning wood. Smoke from it drifted erratically in the sea breeze. The smell of simmering pork might have made Megan's stomach growl, had she not eaten an early dinner.

A man wearing the distinctive uniform of a cruise ship's Captain stalked up to her. If the general rumpled hair poking out from beneath his cap, the remains of at least one meal in his unclipped beard, and the dark something-or-other on his hands hadn't told her that the man hadn't bathed in quite some time, the distinctive odor of unwashed human pouring off of him did. It was just as clear that he hadn't changed his clothes in days.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

Megan eyed him warily, trying to keep the suspicion out of her expression. She hadn't been expecting such a brusque greeting and it gave her pause.

“Megan Perry,” she said amiably. “This is First Mate Neil Perry and All-Speaker Orla Fallon.” Megan extended her hand. The Captain ignored it.

“You'd be the Captain, then?” she continued, overlooking the breach in the usual greeting protocol.

“Yeah. What do you want?”

“We want to help.”

The Captain's brow went up. “Do you, now?” He didn't sound convinced. But there was something in his tone that Megan didn't like. Two ships show up, offering help, help she knew for a fact the occupants of Queen Mary desperately needed, and the man in charge was being belligerent? It didn't make sense.

“We tried to hail you from our ship,” Neil added. “But your reply was...well, there was too much interference.”

The Captain frowned. His eyes, bearing that same haunted look, the look of someone who'd done some terrible things, shifted back and forth. “Follow me,” he said at length. “Let's discuss...hey!” He turned his attention to Orla. “What are you...you can't go over there!”

Orla stopped halfway to the nearest cauldron and peered at the man. “And I suppose you're going to stop me?”

“Ya-Orla?” said Megan. “Eh siokhilka?”

“ Thudeimsho durg tosheo miarfim.”

She turned back and covered the remaining several steps to the cauldron. The ship's Captain again tried to intercept her. Megan followed, Neil on her heels. Something told her things were about to go pear-shaped.

Orla extended a hand over the steaming surface. A small chunk of meat roughly the size of an egg rose from the surface. Megan spared a glance at the Captain's slack-jawed face. Orla let the piece of pork hang there for a few moments before plucking it out of mid-air with thumb and forefinger. She bit off a third of it, and chewed slowly.

At length, she let out a pensive, “Hmm.”

The Captain's face turned to a feral grin, one that made Megan's hair stand on end.

Orla glared at the man. She again extended her hand above the steaming surface of the broth. Moments later, a bone broke the surface. It continued to rise. Only once it had completely cleared the rim of the pot and hung slowly rotating above it did Megan recognize it as a human femur, bits of flesh and gristle still clinging to the joint ends.

“You failed to specify that this is _long_ pork,” said Orla to the Captain.

Megan felt her entire body go cold. She forced down her dinner with an effort of will. Behind her, Neil lost his own fight with his latest meal.

“We had no choice,” said the Captain.

Orla planted her staff on the deck, then twirled the fingers of her other hand above the pot. Another bone, also a femur, but much smaller, rose out of the broth.

“And this child?” said Orla. “Did they have a choice?”

Megan abruptly lost her battle with her stomach.

The Captain chuckled. “You're one of us now,” he said. “One way or another.”

Megan had heard about that sort of mindset. It had to do with initiation rituals. The idea was that once a person performed a particular deed, they were part of the group. It didn't necessarily apply only to cannibalism.

“I think not,” said Orla. She presented her elbow with its conspicuous lenoma.

The Captain's grin vanished.

“I am not human,” Orla half-growled.

“Um...Mum?” said Neil. There was something in his voice that bothered Megan even more than she already was.

“Ehka?”

“Thufuth moarfim.”

Megan wrenched her gaze away from Orla and the Captain. They were surrounded by people, people staring at them with that haunted gaze, the minds behind their eyes half gone.

“Dammit, Neil,” she said. “Si we apocalypsis aszombie damnar.”

The Captain advanced.

“Nasheo llanashosh tillors khall,” said Orla. She flicked her wrist. The human femur hurtled through the air and slammed through the man's midsection, just below his sternum. It might have pinned him to the bulkhead behind him had it not been steel.

The people surrounding them paused, apparently unsure what to do.

Orla snatched up her staff and made a sweeping motion with it. “I wouldn't do anything else, if I were you,” she said to their would-be assailants.

Megan and Neil drew their own swords.

She wasn't sure their threat would have the intended effect. Those people were already going through hell and death would just be a release to them. On the other hand, their minds unhinged as they were, it was quite possible that only feral desperation remained. They'd been on this ship for two months, drifting with the current and eating each other. It was anyone's guess whether the last person standing would starve to death before landfall or the ship capsized. There was now but one question in her mind. Orla beat her to it.

“Thuthiniethi hin finon,” she said.

Megan blinked. “Sisiulka?”

Orla nodded. “Like Sodom and Gomorrah,” she said in English. “Motharl alfut."

Megan suppressed a shudder. “Ai. Kerl sishertu mishopa."

The sounds of loud voices floated on the breeze from somewhere astern.

"Dor ehka?” said Neil.

"Qerl mothrehan filas mishopaen. Fomoalfut,” said Megan.

* * *

Cassandra Erikson huddled in darkness. It was still daylight out, but little of it reached her hiding place where a bed sat fixed to an interior bulkhead. She'd long ago stopped noticing the stink and general yuckyness of what had happened all those times she hadn't been able to hold it.

She'd wanted to, of course. But it had been too dangerous for her to come out. It hadn't always been like that, of course.

The first few days of her cruise had been a lot of fun. Well, except for those times when her brother had teased her about one thing or another. But she'd had to admit that he'd been a lot less of a meanie than usual. Maybe it had been because he'd been trying to impress some of the girls on the ship. Anyway, Cassandra hadn't cared and she still didn't.

The Bright Light had come when she'd climbed out of bed to go potty like she usually did in the wee hours. It had split the night and hurt her head terribly. It had lasted only a couple of seconds, maybe. After that, everything had gone dark and silent. That hadn't mattered to her, so she'd gone back to bed.

The next morning, people had talked about how none of the lights worked, their cell phones and laptops had died, and even the ship's engine had stopped. They'd talked about a lot of other things, too, things a seven-year-old didn't understand. Things like pacemakers, whatever those were, that had apparently killed a few people. Mom had seemed nervous.

After a week, the Captain had ordered food rations. Mom had patiently explained what that meant. Cassandra had been okay with that, even though she'd felt a little hungry most of the time. But it hadn't been that bad. Mostly, it had felt like more adventure.

After a second week, the Captain had sent people out in a lot of small boats with sheets as sails. They'd gone away in all directions to bring back help. None of them had returned.

A week or so later, everything had started to run together for Cassandra. The grown-ups had talked about all sorts of things she hadn't understood. They'd used words like ballast and norovirus and some others she'd never heard. But they'd always sounded worried about something. At some point, the Captain had tightened up the rations. After that, Cassandra had been constantly hungry. So had her mom and brother, and he'd complained about it almost nonstop.

Then one day, Mom had returned to the cabin with a very strange look on her face. Cassandra had never seen it before, but it somehow scared her. Some days later, her brother had disappeared. That day, Mom had returned to the cabin, crying harder than Cassandra had ever seen anyone cry. There'd also been something red on her skin. That had been when Mom had told her to hide under the bed, stay silent, and not come out. Cassandra hadn't understood why, but Mom had been very insistent. She'd been very scared about something and Cassandra hadn't been sure she'd wanted to know what.

Every so often, Mom would go out and later come back with a few pieces of meat. Something called long pork. Mom had shared it with her each time. It had tasted funny, but Cassandra had eaten it without complaint. But it had disturbed Mom greatly. Cassandra had wanted to ask, but had kept quiet.

A few days ago, there'd been a storm, a bad one. Her world had become hours and hours of wind, rain, and rocking. After that, the whole ship was tilted.

Her mother's voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Cassandra,” she said, in nearly a whisper. “Come out. We're going.”

“Where?” Cassandra replied, just as quietly. For a moment, there was no reply and she thought she hadn't been loud enough.

“Away.” There was an urgency in her mom's tone and it scared her even more than she already was.

Cassandra slowly wiggled out from under the bed. She was so stiff, and the floor so slippery, she could barely move. When her head finally cleared the bed's edge, her mom grabbed her arms and hauled her out. The room was so bright, it hurt. She squeezed her eyes closed, held them for a few moments, then carefully opened them again, blinking rapidly until she could see.

Her mom looked terrible. She was skinny, kind of like Great-grandma just before she'd died last year, but without all the wrinkles. The expression on her face scared her. It was partly the same fear from when her brother had been snake-bit two summers ago. But it was also something else.

Before she could ask, Mom grabbed her around the middle, stepped across the cabin, swung open the door, and ran down the hall.

“Where are we going?” Cassandra asked again. There was no reply.

Mom kept running.

“Hey!” said a man from somewhere on the left. “She has a child!”

“A child! A child!” more voices called out.

Cassandra didn't like the way they said it. She clung to Mom even harder, burying her face in clothing that smelled like sweat and spoiled food.

She lost track of just where they were going, aware only of so much zigging and zagging. Sometimes, Mom shoved someone out of her way with a shoulder. Twice, she stumbled and kept from falling only by bouncing off a wall. Another time, she stumbled and did fall, spilling Cassandra onto the floor.

She felt hands grabbing at her clothing. Mom promptly scooped her up, pulling her away, loud shouts and footsteps following them. They slid down some stairs, again falling to the floor, and again scrambling up and away from people trying to get her.

“Why are they trying to get me, Mommy?” she wailed after the third time.

Mom said nothing, just kept going, her breath ragged and labored in Cassandra's ear. Finally, they came out into open air. Mom stopped, then did something jerky, twisting her around to face outward.

Cassandra found herself looking out at the open ocean, Mom's arm holding her around her middle. It was a long way down. A little ways out, a small ship with three masts sat on the water.

“Hang on, honey,” said Mom, “this is probably going to hurt.”

The two of them tipped out and down. Mom twisted and Cassandra's view swung up toward the sky. She recognized the ship's stern, dozens of people reaching out for her over the railing, racing up away from her. Cassandra screamed.

Moments later, they hit something, probably the water, and hit it hard. It hurt like nothing else ever had, worse than last year's car accident multiplied by a hundred. Her vision exploded with a thousand streaks of moving light. Then water, colder than ice, closed around her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could barely think.

Everything went dark and cold and blurry. She felt Mom's grip relax. Just before she lost consciousness, she thought she felt that grip return, moving her through the water. Then there was nothing.

* * *

Hayley Westenra stood at the starboard rail of _Loriesha_. To her left and right, those not on duty also stood at the rail. Which basically accounted for everyone else aboard. She looked across the water toward the stern of _Queen Mary 2_ , sitting much lower in the water than she might have expected, the whole thing conspicuously listing to port. People aboard that ship likewise crowded its rails.

Hayley wasn't sure what anyone expected to see. She knew everyone on both _Loriesha_ and _Amphitrite_ was bored to one extent or another. Granted, people kept themselves occupied in various ways: work; education; training; sex. But nearly three weeks of choppy ocean had a certain monotony broken only by changes in the weather. _Queen Mary 2_ was simply something to see besides ocean. Haley suspected the same was true of the people looking back in her direction.

Truth be told, she was feeling a little anxious. She wanted to do something to help. But until Megan, Orla, and Neil returned from their visit, no one would know what that was. One thing was certain, even without an official report: conditions on that ship must be horrendous. If Hayley had been over there, she was quite sure she'd do anything to escape.

Subtle motion near Queen Mary's fantail caught Hayley's attention. At first, she thought her mind might be playing tricks on her. The she saw it again, accompanied by a brief whitening of the water next to the ship. Her eyes widened. She turned about, drew a deep breath, and magically pushed her voice.  


“Man overboard!” she bellowed. A general commotion among her friends had barely preceded her bellow. They'd apparently seen it, too.  


Moments later, Howl ran across the deck to stand beside Hayley. “Hrmph,” he said at length. “Launch long-boats! All hands, prepare to take on survivors! Ya-Chloe! Ya-Gwenliani!”

Chloe Agnew had stripped off her tunic almost before Haley had finished calling out, and was halfway over the side before Howl was finished speaking. She hit the water and tensed up immediately.

Her first thought was, _Holy Mary Mother of God, that's fucking cold!_ She'd heard stories about the frigid North Atlantic, even before the general briefing about it back in Scilly. But, as with so many other things, there was a big difference between knowing about something and actually experiencing it.

Her left leg began to cramp up. She convulsed involuntarily in reaction to the cold. Sea water surged down her throat, the familiar burning sensation not entirely unpleasant. Within two seconds, her legs had fused together and become her tail. For reasons no one in the fleet understood, the transformation was beyond pleasant and Chloe found herself wondering yet again, albeit briefly, if sex would be anything like it.

Chloe blinked, taking a moment to orient herself. The long shadow of _Loriesha's_ hull hung slightly above and behind her. Her lateral lines easily picked up the splashes of people in the water alongside Queen Mary. She struck out in that direction, half-ignoring the distinct plop-splash of Gwenliani plunging into the water.

Gwenliani let out an eeping sound.

 _Cold, isn't it?_ Chloe rang. _Try to keep up, alright?_ Chloe still wasn't sure if Gwenliani could understand her. The girl understood English, but she wasn't an All-speaker. While Chloe and Naomi had tried to teach her what they supposed to be their mer-language, it was still anyone's guess whether she understood much of it. That she was an entirely different type of mermaid probably complicated things.

Fortunately, Gareth had insisted that everyone drill for such a scenario on the theory that they'd either encounter a ship in trouble, or get into trouble themselves. So Gwenliani knew what to do, at least in theory.

Even a dozen lengths from _Queen Mary's_ hull, Chloe could sense that something wasn't right. She'd expected more thrashing. There was some, right enough. But most of the disturbance in the water came from people entering it. Was the water so cold as to initiate near-instant shock? Or was the fall so high that some of the people were knocked unconscious, broken, or killed on impact?

Chloe cleared her mind of questions. They'd have to sort that out later. But where to start? There were so many! They couldn't all be saved, even with Gwenliani's, and presumably Naomi's, help. Not even with the longboats.

She shoved that from her mind, too, and grabbed the first human form she saw, a child suspended a couple of feet below the surface and slightly above an adult. She clutched the child to her breast, turned about, and struck out for _Loriesha_ , hoping the water was cold enough to retard the progress of death long enough for Sophie and her staff to work their magic.

She broke the surface next to hull and passed the body to the first waiting hands she saw. She ducked back under, and porpoised furiously back toward _Queen Mary_ , drawing thick water into her lungs and pushing it back out again.

She repeated the process, passing Gwenliani as the two of them ferried unconscious people back to _Loriesha_. On the third trip, Naomi arrived.

 _What are we...?_ Naomi began.

 _Just grab the nearest person,_ Chloe rang, _and we'll sort it out later._

_How do we know who's even alive?_

_We don't. We can't. Don't think, Naomi. Just act. And may whatever gods are watching have mercy on us!_

* * *

Orla twitched her staff and Megan braced herself. Several moments later, they came to rest on Amphitrite's upper deck.

Neil leaned heavily against the nearest railing.

“That bad, eh?” said Gareth.

“We have a problem,” said Megan.

“Well,” added Orla, “ _They_ have a problem.”

“Do I want to know?” said Gareth.

“Think about it,” said Neil. “Three thousand people on a ship for two months with only a couple of weeks' worth of food. Do the math.”

Gareth's face fell. “You don't mean...”

Megan nodded.

“All of them? Every one?”

“Orla thinks so.”

“Surely there must be someone who hasn't partaken. Children...”

“Would be among the first eaten,” said Orla.

Neil spun around and emptied what little remained in his stomach over the side. “Can we be done talking about this?” he moaned.

Megan grunted in sympathy. “I wish,” she said through clenched teeth.

After a few moments silence, Gareth said, “We're leaving.” He turned toward the main cabin, pausing to rest a hand on Neil's shoulder. “Need a drink, son?”

“Only if Mum'll let me have a shot of the cooking whiskey.”

* * *

Cassandra pulled her blanket even closer. Her whole body hurt. Her stomach growled. She was damp. To top it all off, she'd never been so cold in her whole life. At least she was clean, more or less.

She didn't remember much. One minute, she'd been falling from the stern of the _Queen Mary 2_ , staring up at the sky, her mom's arms wrapped tightly around her. Then there'd been a jolt and everything had quickly gone dark, wet, and cold.

The next thing she'd known, she'd been lying on a wooden deck and shivering violently. Her clothes had been taken and replaced by a too-large wool blanket. People had been milling about, some shouting, some crying. And then a nice woman had lifted her up and carried her inside the ship.

That same nice woman set a bowl of soup down onto the table, then handed her a spoon. The soup looked good and smelled even better. Steam wafted from it, carrying delicious smells along with it. She felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward.

The woman smiled. “Go ahead,” she said, in an accent that sounded sort of English.

Cassandra accepted the spoon and dipped it deeply into the bowl, lifting out bits of white flesh and green leafy things, and bits of something brown. She peered at it, then back at the woman.

“Fish and leeks,” she said, “with hazelnuts and garlic.”

Cassandra gingerly sipped at the broth. It was very warm, but not overly so. A wave of relief swept through her as she swallowed. She continued to eat, shoveling the soup down as quickly as she could.

“Oh, slow down,” said the woman. “You shouldn't eat too fast. And you should chew, too.”

Cassandra stopped, and eyed her suspiciously. Mom always told her the same thing. She was so hungry, though! But she didn't want to seem ungrateful, so she did as she was told.

The woman sat down across from her and smiled, grey-green eyes twinkling in the strange greenish-yellow light that filled the room. “It's alright,” she said. “You're safe now.”

Cassandra swallowed, then said, “Mommy told me not to talk to strangers.”

The woman chuckled a little. She extended a hand. Cassandra took it tentatively. The woman had a firm grip. “My name's Hayley. What's yours?”

“Cassandra.”

“There. Now we're not strangers anymore.”

Cassandra just looked at Hayley.

“You know,” said Hayley, “all friendships begin with the meeting of strangers.”

At least that much made sense. Cassandra tried to make herself relax. It didn't work. So she took another bite of soup and chewed pensively. “What's long pork?” she asked.

Hayley blinked. “Erm...what?”

“What's long pork?” Cassandra repeated. “Mommy gave it to me when there wasn't anything else to eat. I asked her what it was and she wouldn't tell me. But it tasted funny. Is it the opposite of short pork?” She added the last bit as an attempt at humor.

Hayley's eyes widened. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Be back,” she said quickly, then jumped up and dashed out of the room, sandy-brown pony-tail flying out behind her.

* * *

Haley half-launched from her seat and practically flew out of the cabin. She rushed to the railing and threw up.

“Are you alright?”

Hayley glanced over at Chloe. “No,” she replied. “I'm not alright.” She spit into the sea.

Chloe handed her a mug of steaming liquid. Hayley accepted it, sipping at an infusion of mint, cinnamon, and orange peel. She swished it around in her mouth, spit that out, then took another sip.

“Want to talk about it?” said Chloe.

“No.” Hayley exhaled deeply. “There's a little girl in there, one of the ones we pulled out of the water. She...” Hayley fought back another spasm. “Her mother fed her long pork to keep her alive.”

Chloe gasped, then threw up. Hayley handed her the mug. She took a sip, then swallowed. “If you're joking,” she said, looking out toward the sea, “I'm going to hurt you.” Then, “Sorry. I guess we knew it was happening, or had to happen anyway. It's just...”

“...not the same actually seeing it,” Hayley finished.

Chloe nodded.

“Are you ladies alright?”

Hayley and Chloe turned toward Captain Howl. Hayley sighed. “Not really, no.”

“Oh? Anything I should know about?”

Hayley and Chloe exchanged glances.

“I'm not sure you _want_ to know,” said Chloe.

“If it concerns the people on my ship, then I want to know.”

His funeral. “There's a little girl in there,” said Hayley, “whose mother kept her alive feeding her human flesh, and _SHE...DOESN'T...KNOW IT!_ ” She growled the last bit, trying to keep her voice down.

What color was visible in the failing daylight drained from Howl's face. He turned and vomited into the sea. Chloe wordlessly handed him the mug. He accepted it gladly and drank greedily. He groaned, then glanced down at himself.

“Did I get any on me?” he asked.

Chloe stepped over and snatched the mug from his hand. “Children are being fed human flesh and you're concerned about your clothing? Get over yourself!” She turned and stalked off.

Howl started to say something.

“You know,” interrupted Hayley, “she has a point. Don't get me wrong, I respect you for a lot of things. But would it really kill you to get your hands dirty once in a while? Now, if you don't mind...and even if you do...there's a scared little girl in there who could use something resembling a friendly face.” She turned and left the Captain standing there at the rail.

* * *

North Atlantic Ocean  
May 19, CY 1, 2012 AD

Orla Fallon watched a splendid sunrise out of one corner of her eye. The rest of her attention was fixed on the spray of black hair in her hands. She worked at it, returning a hairbrush to her lap each time a tangle presented itself, which was often.

The girl named Cassandra sat in front of her, staring at, as near as Orla could tell, nothing in particular. She absently stroked Alfu's soft foeliri while the little animal purred.

When she finally finished brushing out the girl's long tresses, she gathered them at the nape of her neck and tied the resulting ponytail with a green ribbon that Orla thought roughly matched Cassandra's eyes.

“There,” said Orla, “all done. Do you feel better now?”

Cassandra craned her head around, smiled, and nodded.

They queued up for breakfast. Its smells had been making Orla's stomach rumble since the cooks had begun a little before lomelgen, that time when the sky turned pale in anticipation of melgen—pre-dawn—which heralded daln, the cresting of the sun over the horizon.

Cassandra reached for something.

“No,” said Orla patiently, “that's for Ingarians only. All the dishes are color-coded, remember?”

Cassandra sighed, then nodded.

“You'll get used to it,” said Naomi over her shoulder. She turned and presented her hand. “Naomi Agnew. And you are...?”

Cassandra shook Naomi's hand gingerly. “Cassandra,” she said.

“Cassandra. That's a pretty name.” Naomi turned her attention back to her food, dishing out a couple of spoons full of oat porridge, then sprinkling a few chia seeds over it and topping it off with a drizzle of honey. “So tell us a little about yourself.”

Cassandra remained silent.

“She's still a little...overwhelmed, I think,” said Orla.

Naomi chuckled. “I know how that feels. The day I discovered I'm a mermaid was...well, it was a little much, you know?”

Cassandra made an inquisitive noise.

“I know,” Orla suggested, “why don't we talk about it after we sit down, hm?”

Orla also took some oat porridge, to which she added dried currants, pumpkin seeds, and honey, then scrambled eggs made with goat milk onto which she sprinkled a little goat cheese and some ghost pepper flakes, taking care to keep her fingers clean. It wouldn't do to transfer that much capsaicin into someone else's eyes. Onto a separate dish, she placed some plain fish for Alfu.

Cassandra had been among a few of the newcomers transferred to _Amphitrite_ late the previous night. Survivors had been few. Most of the people who'd jumped from _Queen Mary 2_ had been killed upon impact with the water. Of those Chloe, Naomi, and Gwenliani had grabbed beneath the surface, plus those who'd been plucked out of the water by those in the longboats, more than half had died afterward. Then, sometime in the middle of the night, the ocean-liner had capsized. The event had been invisible in the dark, but even those below decks had heard it. All told, seventeen people had survived, out of more than three thousand originally aboard.

The trio sat down on the far side of the Common Room near the door to the fantail.

“Naomi,” said Orla, “where's your mother?”

“Asleep.”

Orla sighed and shook her head. At Naomi's raised eyebrow, she said, “I don't think hardly any of us got any sleep last night.”

Naomi snorted. “Who could?”

“Adele, apparently. I know I've been a little critical about her tendency to sleep in, but...”

“But we're going to need someone to take watch and such when the rest of us want to take naps this afternoon?”

Orla chuckled. “Something like that.” She took a bite of her eggs and chewed, ignoring Naomi's shudder.

Orla was well familiar with the disparities between how humans and Ingarians tasted food. It had been somewhat of a puzzle for Marido's human family during her otherwise Irish childhood. Only when the then-girl had discovered her true identity had her divergent gastronomic preferences made any sense to her. Orla, of course, had known all along, but the issue had remained a persistent source of consternation. Only after Marido had revealed her secret to her family had food turned into a source of semi-amusement.

“So,” said Orla once she'd swallowed her first bite, “you were going to tell Cassandra here about being a mermaid.”

Naomi swallowed a bite of her porridge. “No,” she said, “ _you_ decided I was going to talk about that.”

Orla cocked her head.

“Sorry,” said Naomi. “I suppose I'm still a little touchy about it.”

Orla glanced over at Cassandra's imploring expression and her still-half-full breakfast plate. “I think the little lady's curiosity has overcome her appetite. Which is saying something.”

Naomi's expression softened. “Oh, alright.” She reached over and tousled the girl's hair. In between bites, she told the story of how she learned she was a mermaid. As soon as she'd started, Cassandra went back to eating, at least half of her attention still on Naomi.

“And that,” said Naomi when she'd finished, “is about it. I'm sorry there's not more to it. Believe me, I wish we knew more. But we don't. Do you have any questions?”

Cassandra just blinked at Naomi, then took another bite of her buckwheat toast. Orla was beginning to think it was going to be like pulling hen's teeth to get the girl to say much of anything about much of anything. She could just about count on two hands the number of words she'd heard Cassandra say since boarding Amphitrite.

Not that anyone could blame her. She'd been through two months of hell. There'd been a time when someone like her would have been sent to professional therapy. More than that, though, she really needed love. And that was something Orla could give her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra has a theme song:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rnNBeyxe_W4


	4. Chapter 4

North Atlantic Ocean  
May 20, CY1, 2012 AD

Orla gently shut her cabin door on Cassandra's sleeping form, letting the latch softly click. She exhaled deeply, then trotted back up to the Common Room the deck above.

Marido Arghim looked up as Orla joined her at a table. “Still sleeping?” she asked.

Orla nodded. “Poor thing. Can you blame her?”

“After all she's endured?” Marido shook her head. “Not really.” She picked up a half-eaten buckwheat scone. “She missed breakfast, though,” she said, her food already halfway into her mouth.

Orla chuckled ruefully. “Half the ship slept in, not counting the night watch.”

Marido swallowed. “Considering hardly anyone slept at all night before last, I'm not surprised. Between that, and the healers needing their rest, it's amazing anyone's upright.”

“Was it much different the day after Cardiff?”

“Weren't we unconscious?” Marido picked up a horse chestnut and took a nibble.

“After that, of course. Everyone was wound up for a couple of days, even after anchoring at Scilly.”

Marido grunted, then looked about. “Where's Alfu?”

“Curled up next to Cassandra, purring like a cat.”

Marido chuckled. “They're really taken with each other, aren't they?”

Orla nodded. “For all that...”

A shrill scream interrupted her. She and Marido exchanged a glance, then bolted out of their seats. Orla flew down the stairs, clearing the entire flight in a single bound. She flung open her cabin door.

Cassandra sat on Orla's bunk, her small body heaving in appeared to be a panic attack. Short eeping sounds escaped from the girl's mouth with every breath. Her wide eyes stared across the cabin to where Alfu stood trembling on the opposite bunk.

Orla knelt down in front of Cassandra. “It's alright,” she said, gently taking the girl's hands.

Cassandra blinked, then looked at Orla with those large green eyes. They began to fill with water. Orla wrapped her arms around the girl and let her sob against her. “Sh,” she soothed, petting the beautiful black hair, “I'm here.”

Marido half-slid into the room, grabbing the door frame on her way in. Orla met her gaze, then nodded toward Alfu. Marido sat down on the opposite bunk and took the little furlit in her arms and stroked the top of her snout. After a few moments, Alfu stopped quivering.

“ Eh liwanenka?” Marido asked after a moment.

“Qerl taheralunen llesilak piethrak we tosofil piethrak we tathikhranoshemen.”

“Dar taokhilal shakhith?”

Orla exhaled. “Minonelemis.”

“It's alright,” said Megan from out in the hallway. “Everyone, as you were!”

Moments later, Megan stuck her head into the cabin.

Orla nodded. “Tathikhranemen.”

Megan grunted in acknowledgement. “Well, if you need anything...” She let the rest of her offer go unsaid.

“Loramin," said Marido.

Orla let Cassandra cry herself out. She eventually pulled back and gazed up at Orla with her tear-streaked face. She sniffled. Orla produced a handkerchief and handed it to the girl. She took it shakily and blew her nose.

“Let's go upstairs and get you something to eat, shall we?” said Orla.

Cassandra looked back up at Orla and nodded.

Orla picked her up and carried her down the hall, then up to the Common Room, Marido and Alfu right behind them. “Right,” she said, “let's see...” She scanned the meager leavings spread across the breakfast table.

She chose the last hard-boiled egg, two slices of buckwheat toast, an acorn muffin, and a quarter of a grapefruit. No sooner had they sat down, then Cassandra dug into her breakfast. She ate with one hand, and reached over to stroke Alfu with the other. Alfu started purring.

Orla smiled at Cassandra's sheepish expression. “Better now?” she asked.

Cassandra looked up, blinked, then nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horse chestnut (genus Aesculus) is different from regular edible chestnut (the ones roasting over an open fire in various Christmas songs). Horse chestnuts contain the toxic alkaloid aesculin. While not lethal, it gives horse chestnuts a really bad flavor (If you've ever bitten into a banana peel, it's kind of like that.). Aesculin can be leached out using the same methods employed to leach tannins out of acorn flour, thus making horse chestnut edible for humans.


	5. Chapter 5

North Atlantic Ocean  
June 21, CY 1, 2012 AD

Cassandra sat in a patch of what remained of the morning's sunlight. All about Amphitrite's Common Room, everyone seemed to have returned to normal. Not that she really knew what that was. At least, not so far from home. But she'd recognized and felt the chaos all around her when she'd first come aboard. A couple of days later, the chaos had passed. Everyone had settled into their routines, into what Cassandra felt had become her new life.

She sat at one of the tables, taking turns eating a “working lunch,” working on her school assignment, and stroking Alfu's soft foeliri—the not-quite-fur and not-quite-feathers that covered the creature--a low, cat-like rumble vibrating its body. The small animal didn't seem so strange to her anymore. Not like it had when she'd first come aboard _Amphitrite_.

It was about the size of a beagle, and would apparently grow to be a bit larger than a Shetland pony. A sturdy tail a bit over a third of the animal's length balanced the rest of it. A thick neck a little over half the length of the tail supported a head that Cassandra swore looked like a triceratops, complete with small nubs where horns were to grow over each eye and the nose, but with a fleshy muzzle instead of a beak. Alfu's body was less barrel-shaped and leaner than a triceratops. Powerful hind legs reminded her of what might happen from crossing a bear with a cougar, each of five toes tipped with a stubby claw. The front legs were almost cougar-like, and unlike the rear feet, the claws were retractable like a cat's.

Most of the furlit was covered with foeliri, looking a lot like the sphagnum moss Cassandra's grandma used to use with her house plants, but in shades of grey. The older ones were nearly white, the newer growth darker, the newest a sort of metallic black. Only Alfu's muzzle and part of her frill were bare, the skin a charcoal color with a texture that reminded Cassandra of fine doeskin leather.

Overall, Cassandra still still thought Alfu looked kind of like a dinosaur with dark grey, mossy feathers. Even though she knew it was an alien.

That was more than a bit surreal, too. Not only was Alfu an alien, but many of the people on the ship were also aliens. It was like Star Trek come to life, sort of. Her brother had liked that stuff and she'd thought it stupid. A pang of sadness washed through her at the thought.

She missed her brother, even though they'd fought so much. He would have been all over the alien stuff like white on rice. She missed her mommy even more. It made her very sad to know she'd never see them again. She hoped they'd both died quickly and painlessly. But she still might some day see her daddy again, and that had been part of what had kept her going.

She glanced over at Orla Fallon, the alien woman who'd taken care of her for the last month. Her face was so kind and beautiful, but with some sadness to it. Cassandra knew why.

Orla had talked about her husband and son who'd died when their homeworld had been destroyed. She'd also talked about the husband and child she'd had before that, both of whom had also died so many years before. It was all so sad. But Orla took delight in the memories of those people, in the love she still had for them, and in who and what they had been when alive.

She liked Orla. She was nice, even though she made Cassandra do chores and attend school and stuff like that. But Mommy had made her do that, too, and she'd loved Mommy and Mommy had loved her. Did Orla love her, too?

Cassandra didn't know. But she knew Orla cared enough to share her cabin, find clothes for her, and help her with food and lessons. Maybe it didn't matter. Cassandra had a warm, dry place to sleep, clean clothes, food to eat that wasn't long pork, and things to keep her busy.

She even liked some of those things. Some of her lessons—reading, writing, math, science, history--were a lot like normal school, which she usually hadn't minded so much. Others were really different: dance; hand-to-hand combat; and magic.

Magic! Not like card tricks, or pulling rabbits out of hats and stuff like that. But _real_ magic! She couldn't wait to tell, and show, her friends back home.

Oh, and learning the Ingarian language, although that happened pretty much all the time and because most Ingarians weren't able to speak other languages, or at least not well. But she was learning an alien language! It was all enough to make her feel overwhelmed a lot of the time.

And Naomi Agnew was a mermaid, an actual mermaid! Maybe even the one who'd pulled her out of the sea. Or maybe it had been her sister Chloe. She wanted to gush to someone about it, but everyone on the ship already knew and hardly anyone seemed to think it was a big deal.

A loud voice from across the cabin caught her attention, her acorn-and-buckwheat “English” muffin spread with roasted chestnut butter momentarily forgotten, along with her calligraphy assignment.

“Teeth?! It has _TEETH?!_ ”

Marido Arghim looked up from Cassandra's paper. “What has teeth?” she asked.

Her brother Noel Nesbitt held up a book and pointed to a page.

Marido gasped. “Ya-Noel!” she scolded. She leaped to her feet and practically bounded over to him. “Be careful with that!” she snapped. She carefully took the book from him and set it gently onto the table beside him and exhaled. “Sorry,” she said, “but this is a priceless, irreplaceable cultural relic! Now, what has teeth?”

Noel frowned, then pointed to the page.

Marido looked at it for a few moments. “Those aren't teeth, you ninny!”

Cassandra's curiosity was too much for her. She abandoned her meal and trotted over to peer around Marido at the book. Cassandra wasn't sure, but it looked like an anatomy drawing. Though why Noel was so worked up over it, she had no idea.

“What do you mean they're not teeth?” Noel continued.

“They're cartilaginous...sort of.”

“Cartilaginous, sort of?” Noel parroted. “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

Marido groaned. “You know, if you'd like, I could let you reach in here and...”

“ _NO!_ ” Noel shrieked.

Marido crossed her arms defiantly, her lenomae conspicuous.

“What seems to be the trouble?” asked Orla from behind Cassandra.

She nearly jumped.

Marido pointed at the book. “Noel seems to think we have teeth...down there.”

Orla looked at the page. A moment later, she began to chuckle, which quickly rose to a hearty laugh that made Cassandra smile. “Lein, lein,” said Orla, once her laughter had subsided. “Those are there to stimulate the male.”

Noel spluttered. “Wh...what? As if we...”

“It's the other way 'round with us, you know. The female gets off quickly and the male takes a while.”

Noel blinked. “Pull the other one.”

“I'm not joking, ya-Noel. Any Ingarian woman here can tell you the number of...”

“Okay, okay, enough!”

Orla shrugged. “Not that most of us would be crass enough to discuss it.”

Marido made a snorting sound.

Orla nudged her gently with an elbow, then glanced down at Cassandra. “I'll explain it all to you later, when you're older,” she said. “Sahalka?”

Cassandra figured that was just as well. She had absolutely no idea what Marido and Noel had been discussing anyway. She smiled and nodded. Later, when she was older. She liked the sound of that, both the growing-up part and the Orla-being-around-for-it part. She felt Orla rest a hand on her shoulder before continuing the conversation.

“They also serve some important functions relating to childbirth,” said Orla.

“You mean child _hatching_ ,” said Noel.

“We...don't...hatch...you...” said Marido insistently.

“But...”

“It's not a bloody egg!”

“Alright, alright,” said Noel defensively. “But that does look like the Sarlac Pit,” he said, pointing again at the drawing.

“It does not.”

“Actually,” said Orla, “it sort of does.”

Marido blinked.

“Where do you think George Lucas got the idea?”

“Oh, you've got to be...” said Noel.

A crunching sound interrupted him. All eyes turned toward the port side of the Common Room.

Nalaya, Neil Perry's wife, sat stiffly upright, eyes wide, one hand on her belly. The other hand dropped the book she'd been reading aloud to some children. She dragged in a deep breath. “Ya-Neil!” she yelled. “Nashanlaom!” Our daughter!

Cassandra watched a person-shaped blur, probably Neil, fly down the stair-ladder from the Bridge. He skidded across the floor, barely missing one of the children scattering out of his way. He and Nalaya exchanged a quick conversation before he kissed her briefly and turned to bellow for his mom and sister.

Both of them dashed out of the kitchen carrying several large bowls, which they half-dropped on the floor. Nalaya squatted over one of the bowls, her tunic hiking up her thighs, while Mari handed the all-but-forgotten story-book to the nearest bystander and retreated hurriedly back to the kitchen.

All attention had turned toward Nalaya and Neil. Cassandra tried to remember all the things Orla and Marido had told her about Ingarian childbirth. First of all, everyone not directly involved was supposed to stay out of the way. She was fine with that. She had it on good authority that human childbirth was very messy and that the mother did a lot of screaming.

Apparently the screaming part was different with Ingarians. But it was even messier than for humans. As if to punctuate Cassandra's recollection of that detail, something fell into the bowl beneath Nalaya, hitting the metal with a sort of dull tap.

Cassandra watched with fascination. Only when Alfu nudged her hand did she remember the furlit. In hindsight, she realized there hadn't been much to watch. For the better part of an hour, Nalaya squatted over one bowl or another, Neil holding her hand with one of his and supporting her about the waist with the other. Occasionally, Nalaya grunted, after which something fell out of her. Sometimes it was something solid-looking, other times a bit of thick liquid that smelled funny even from across the room.

The whole time, Nalaya recited something in Ingarian. Orla sat next to Cassandra and interpreted. It was something from an Ingarian epic poem that had something to do with the connection between creation and motherhood.

Nalaya rushed through the last few lines of the poem. A few moments and a loud grunt later, something definitely baby-shaped fell out of her. Megan had been ready, and deftly caught the child. A gush of more fluid and bits of that hard stuff followed, splashing into the bowl and running down Megan's arms. The woman didn't seem to mind.

She immediately handed the baby to its parents. They took it together and did something Cassandra couldn't quite see. A moment later, the baby threw up something honey-colored all over its parents, then began to cry.

Mari handed Neil a towel and together he and Nalaya wiped down the baby.

A short while later, Megan had swaddled the baby and Cassandra tip-toed over to take a look. Neil and Nalaya's little girl looked about like every other baby Cassandra had ever seen. Except that her eyes were a bit bigger. And a protruding arm showed a small rough patch at the elbow.

Cassandra smiled, then held out a hand to the baby. She made an inquisitive noise.

Nalaya nodded. “Fusika,” she said. Of course. Cassandra reached out, ran a few fingers along the baby's brown-and-blonde hair, and grinned.

Another short while later, everyone aboard had gathered in the common room in a rough semi-circle, facing the large mirror fixed to the bulkhead. That mirror showed _Loriesha's_ common room. In it, Sophie and Lettie stood holding their own little girls, beaming just as much as Nalaya.

Sophie began to sing.

Hino! Hino! Nasoda nati henadyaheno

After the first line, Lettie joined, and then Nalaya.

Hino nagisa nonataso henadyahenyo  
Hino henadyahenyo  
Hino nagisa

Beginning the second verse—or maybe it was simply a second iteration of the song--every Ingarian on both vessels, and the few humans who had lived with them for years, added their voices.

After a time, Orla pulled a flute out of seemingly nowhere—her marthwiloros, Cassandra reminded herself—and played a short, but beautiful, interlude.

The song then resumed as a round. Cassandra had no idea what the words meant, but it was the most beautiful song she had ever heard. At one point, Orla again joined in with her flute.

Casanda watched the faces of those gathered in the common rooms of both ships. Some wore no particular expression. Others, the new mothers and their families most of all, beamed a pure and tangible joy.

After several repetitions, the song came to a conclusion.

* * *

Megan slipped into the kitchen, and returned with what looked like a medium-sized soup tureen. She set it down and ladled some of the contents into a large ceramic cup, which she handed to Nalaya.

Nalaya took it with the hand not occupied with her daughter. “Nalaya Re-Perry, As-Iraini, Thomen-rin,” she said, reciting her whole name. She took a small sip, then passed it to Neil.

“Neil Re-Perry, As-Megana, Gareth-rin,” he said, then also took a sip. He grimaced slightly, then passed the cup on.

The cup passed from person to person, each repeating the form of the ritual. Most of the humans made a face, and a few looked as though trying not to throw up.

“Marido Re-Arghim, As-Melano, Loran-rin,” said Marido.

“Orla Re-Selthbi, As-Deloru, Ellathin-rin,” said Orla. She took a sip, then handed the cup to Cassandra.

She took it, noticing how warm it was. It didn't quite steam, but she could certainly smell it. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then spoke for the first time in weeks. She was surprised how strong it was and how well it carried. Something had happened in her heart. She could feel it, though she knew not what it was.

“Cassandra Re-Erikson, As-Lynn-a, Gustaf-rin.” She took a small sip of the grey-ish liquid in the cup and winced. It was almost, but not quite, totally unlike anything she'd ever tasted. She had no idea if she liked it or not, but was grateful she would never have to decide and even more grateful that Nalaya and the baby would have the remainder of however much hadn't been used in the ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The New Life song sounds like this:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9N9MewJde0


End file.
